


Hold Me Like a Grudge

by SierraNovembr



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, December 16 1991, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Human Experimentation, Kidnapping, M/M, Mentioned Peggy Carter - Freeform, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, but none of the archive warnings will apply
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 11:15:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21898045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SierraNovembr/pseuds/SierraNovembr
Summary: “You’re not allergic to turkey, Anthony.”((A Winteriron Sentinel/Guide fic where the serum turned Bucky into a Sentinel and Hydra manages him with a careful balance of cryo, drugs, and mind-wipes.  Howard creates a guide version of the serum and turns Tony into one before the car accident.))
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark
Comments: 55
Kudos: 359
Collections: Tony Stark Bingo 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from AJR's Weak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1 betaed by the wonderful Faustess with my gratitude.

“You’re not allergic to turkey, Anthony.”

Tony scowled at the sliced turkey breast on his plate, the last part of what was a really spectacular dinner, especially after months of his own dubious attempts to keep himself fed between lab binges. The meat was moist and smothered in a smooth brown gravy and Tony could feel his mouth watering. He sighed and pushed the plate away slightly. “Right. I just happen to get sick every time I come home – which is, incidentally, the only place I eat turkey.” _Maybe I’m allergic to you_, Tony sneered silently.

Howard Stark sighed. “Jarvis, you c’n have the night. Anthony and I have some things to discuss.”

Jarvis froze momentarily, white gloved hands resting on the crystal decanter he had just set down on the dining room table. He caught Tony’s eye and his lips thinned. Finally, the man took a small step back from the table. “Very good. Good night, sirs.”

They sat in an uncomfortable silence while Jarvis cleared their plates and murmured a good night. Howard pulled out a small notebook and pen. He leveled Tony with a stare. “Now, tell me how long you were sick for last time and what your symptoms were.”

“Are you keeping track?!” Tony heard his voice spiral upward. “That’s just – I can’t – "

Howard nodded and marked something down. “Judging by your reaction it was more than just vomit.”

“This conversation is going to make me vomit!” Tony felt his face flush and his pulse pound. “You can’t just – “ He pushed back from the table, but a wave of dizziness swept over him when he tried to stand. He collapsed back into his chair and turned a glare on his father. Howard watched him with an unsettling anticipation in his eyes that made Tony feel like a particularly volatile experiment.

“Anthony. You’re too irrational to understand this right now, so I thought I would make this whole conversation easier for you.”

Tony slumped further into the chair, unable to hold himself up. He felt a surge of panic, but it wasn’t strong enough to overcome the lassitude weighing down his limbs. Drugged. He’d been drugged somehow. 

Fucking Howard.

He must have made some noise or grunt, because Howard paused to push away from the table and come towards him. “I’m doing this for you, you know.”

Howard leaned over Tony, an unsettling, manic glint in his eyes. “You are the key to the future. We were so limited by the technology of the time, but with you, I’ve figured it out!” He reached out and Tony’s eyes rolled down to see him gather both of Tony’s hands in front of him. “And now, I will change the world. You will be my greatest creation!” 

He pulled sharply on Tony’s hands and surged forward as Tony toppled like a ragdoll. The world swung wildly around him and he found himself thrown over Howard’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Tony willed himself to throw up, tried imagining it staining Howard’s perfect suit, but even in this his body was not cooperative.

They made a slow path through the blue living room towards the garage. Tony was jostled on his father’s bony shoulder with each step. He expected the old man to be complaining the whole way, but whatever had brought on his father’s manic happy mood was apparently worth the effort of dragging an unwilling Tony through the house.

Somehow, they made it to the garage and Howard dumped him in the back of the Buick. Tony’s head thumped against the seat while Howard hauled his legs in and shut the door. 

Howard puttered for a few more minutes. The driver’s side door opened and there was a rustle of paper and some thumps as Howard tucked something behind the driver and passenger seats. Tony focused hard on his peripheral vision, but he couldn’t make out the contents at all. Eventually, the door slammed shut again and the engine rumbled to life.

For a long time there were only the sounds of Howard’s driving, the gentle swish of the tires, and the windshield wiper blades whirring to clear off the light snowfall. Tony watched the flakes in the occasional illumination of the streetlights in the sliver of sky he could see through the passenger window. He wondered if one of them would end up killing the other this time.

“This is actually rather nice, don’t you think, Anthony? There’s something to be said for father-son road trips, as long as one has a way to make the son tolerable.”

Tony tried, unsuccessfully, to spit something at Howard. 

“I think it’s time we talked about Captain America,” Howard went on, ignoring the quiet wheeze behind him. 

His father proceeded to spill out an insane conspiracy theory about how the comic book character Tony had so loved growing up was actually based on a highly classified human experimentation project back in the war. Whatever drug Tony had been given was temporarily redundant as he was completely frozen with shock.

“The Sentinel of Liberty,” Howard chuckled. “I thought Phillips was going to murder someone when he saw those comics. The project was all code-named Sentinel, of course. Thought someone leaked something, but at the end of the day, Office of War Information just thought it sounded good.”

Howard hummed and his mood seemed to shift down again, drawing the more familiar misery around himself like a worn coat. “Of course, it wouldn’t have mattered if it’d been a leak. Didn’t fucking work, did it? Oh, Rogers was enhanced. His senses were well beyond our most optimistic predictions, but what’s the point of a soldier who turns into a vegetable when he hears a gunshot?” Howard punctuated his question with a smack to the steering wheel. The car veered briefly into the gravel-strewn shoulder before he brought it back onto the road.

Tony remembered, with a jolt, how much his father had had to drink at dinner. And before. The Captain America rambling wasn’t helping matters, and Tony was suddenly, achingly, afraid. He wasn’t buckled in, trapped in a car with a drunk. No one knew where he was. Jarvis had gone home, Rhodey wouldn’t wonder at the lack of a phone call for another day at least.

It was entirely possible he could die tonight.

“We got precious little data, you see. The poor man was put into a form of cryostasis to prevent his going mad while we figured out what to do with him.”

Tony’s stomach rolled again. Howard was starting to sound like a monologuing villain who would be right at home in a Captain America comic himself.

“But he did mention several times feeling lost. Like he wasn’t able to find his way back to reality or his own body.” Howard sighed. “So I made him a guide. The additional pheromones you are producing now will help ground him. He’ll always be able to find you. Sense you. You’re a calibration point!” Howard’s enthusiasm returned with this proclamation and Tony’s throat went tight.

Shouldn’t he have stopped hoping to be anything more than a lab rat to his father by now? 

He was just getting a good bout of self-pity worked up when Howard’s next sentence was interrupted by a sharp crack.

Howard lost control of the car. It careened off the road before coming to an abrupt stop. Tony tumbled over the side of the seat, landing on his back in the footwell. He could feel something digging into his back, but he still couldn’t move much more than his head. Howard was cursing, and when he turned to look back at Tony a trickle of blood seeped from a gash on his forehead. Tony was staring right into Howard’s face when there was another sharp sound and the man jerked, a grunt of surprise slipping out of his lips. They both looked down to see red blooming across Howard’s chest.

Tony hadn’t ever seen Howard look scared before. It took a minute for his drug-addled mind to place it, but the whites showing all around his eyes, the way Howard’s hands shook when he reached into his jacket pocket – his father, the unshakable Howard Stark, was going to die scared.

Tony made a gurgling sound, all that he could manage in his current state. Howard, true to form even now, ignored him, removed a small paper envelope from his pocket, and carefully tore a corner off. He hauled himself over far enough to force the corner into Tony’s mouth. Two round little pills pushed past his lips.

“Chew,” Howard commanded. “It will help reverse the effects.” He cried out and pushed a hand to his chest. “Tony – ” Howard’s voice choked. His eyes filled with tears, and wasn’t that just another shock in what was far too long a line for one night. Tony had half a second to wonder if they were from pain or regret, before Howard yelled, “RUN!”

Tony flinched back, not expecting the man to be able to muster such volume, and then gurgled a scream when another bullet tore through the driver’s side window and Howard slumped over. Tony closed his mouth, desperately searching out the small pills with his tongue. He was crying, hitching in each breath, and when his teeth finally crunched into the drugs, he sobbed so hard he thought he’d break a rib from trying to contain it.

The smell of blood permeated the enclosed space, and Tony forced himself to calm his breathing somewhat, if only to stop gulping in the reminder that his dad was –

Tony closed his eyes and focused on getting his limbs to cooperate. Some semblance of feeling returned, and in a minute or so he had managed to work his way up to kneeling. He had his hand on the door handle when he registered that there were people shouting outside the car. It didn’t sound like English, but his mind was too muddled to parse it. He tumbled out of the door, as uncoordinated as a freshman in stilettos at the end of her first frat party, and his legs collapsed under him, dumping him into a mess of muddy slush at the side of the road. He spent the next several seconds having a very strenuous conversation with himself about the necessity of moving, while his body proceeded to pant and shake and remain entirely prone. 

From his vantage point on the ground in a pile of limbs, he had a good view of two masked men heading towards the car from the other side of the street. Using a combination of sheer stubbornness and the car door handle, Tony pulled himself to a wobbly stand. He couldn’t quite make himself let go of the support, even as the two figures drew closer. These were not exactly good Samaritans – the flash of light off a blade, the anger in their eyes – Tony was well and truly afraid, but at least he could face them on his feet.

He swallowed, tried to think of something to say – witty or sarcastic or pleading, it hardly mattered, anything to stall their advance, but his mouth was dry and useless. 

_GET DOWN._

Tony felt the imperative in his very core, and he folded to the earth again in a blink. Gunshots rang out and the men dropped like puppets. 

For an unknown amount of time, all Tony was aware of was his own breath and pounding heartbeat, but eventually, he realized his legs had started tingling, an almost-itch that would drive him mad before long. The sensation gave him enough hope to try getting up again. He took a deeper breath, tried to ignore the smell from the two bodies, and pushed his way back to his feet.

He came face to face with a man in a dark mask. Tony froze, muscles locking down so hard it was painful. For a long moment, the man stared at him, expression hidden behind the mask and goggles, and then he pivoted to the car and yanked open the trunk. No, Tony realized with rising hysteria, the man_ peeled off_ the top of the trunk with his _hands_.

Tony ran. He stumbled on his first step, falling forward with his heart in his throat, but managed to get his other foot under him. Pain jarred up his leg, but he pushed through another step. Another. Soon he was dashing into the woods set back a few feet from the road. 

There was no plan, no thought beyond getting away. He ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Logic brain: I will write the whole thing and post it on a schedule! Readers will like the consistency over a wip.  
Monkey brain: Validation NOW.
> 
> Thank you for checking out the first chapter here. I'm sorry there is no schedule, but I have never abandoned a wip, so please subscribe if you're interested. <3


	2. Chapter 2

Tony wasn’t sure how long he had been running. He knew that he was cold, so cold, and that each breath juddered on the way in and coughed on the way out. He knew that his feet were going numb and that the stitch in his side sent white-hot pain through his torso.

It was too much.

He stopped, nearly falling to his knees when he bent over to hack and wheeze his way through the next few breaths. If he made it out of this, he was going to move to Malibu. He stood slowly and looked around, trying to see through the dark. He couldn’t make out much beyond the next tree. He strained his ears but heard nothing beyond the hush of snow falling. He spun and started to follow his own tracks back.

Back to what? A car wreck, several bodies, and probably the most terrifying man Tony had ever seen? Tony stopped again. He cursed through chattering teeth. “Fu – fu – fuck.”

There was a noise, off to his left. Tony startled and stumbled away. It came again, a sort of sigh. Tony’s body dumped another load of adrenaline and he shot off, running away to his right. Everything hurt, his chest squeezed, and his face burned with the cold. 

He could probably be forgiven for not catching on sooner. As it was, the whole process had repeated before he realized what was happening. 

He was being herded.

Tony stopped again. In another minute it probably wouldn’t even be a choice. His vision fuzzed badly, and his mouth tanged sharply of metal. Tony propped himself against a tree trunk to wait, his body giving only an occasional shiver now.

It wasn’t long before the sigh came again, then another, and finally a soft growl. Tony shrugged and managed to whisper, “I can’t.”

The man melted out of the darkness, a shadow against the deeper black. _You should_. 

Tony stared. The mask and goggles were gone, and his face was nothing short of arresting. His eyes were an icy blue grey that seemed to fit their surroundings and his jaw was clenched beneath dark stubble. There was snow in his long brown hair.

He had a metal arm. Tony blinked, actually rubbed his eyes like a cartoon character. It was moving naturally as the man walked.

Shit. He was getting closer. His steps were soundless, gliding through the snow like a leopard. Oh, shit, shit, _shit_, Tony was probably going to die very soon.

But like hell was he just going to stand here and wait for it. He pushed away from the tree, took two steps towards whatever fate this man had for him, and collapsed in the snow.

* * *

It was still dark when Tony woke up feeling like one big bruise. Everything hurt. His feet throbbed in time with his heartbeat. He was grateful that it was too dark to see them, because he was a little bit afraid of what they must look like. He shifted on what felt like a camping cot, and most of his muscles complained. He stilled and the pain subsided slightly. He took a deep breath. Okay, not going to move for a while. He closed his eyes and let himself start to drift back down.

There was a rustling sound nearby, a page being turned. Tony groaned. He turned his head to glare in the direction of the noise. He could just barely make out the shape of a person, but it might also be an armchair.

“Quiet,” Tony slurred. His feet hurt and his legs hurt and his head hurt, and he wanted to go back to sleep.

_Go back to sleep_.

“Too dark to read,” Tony retorted before he was out again.

* * *

The next time Tony woke up, the soft light of pre-dawn was seeping through the small window opposite his cot. He kept his eyes closed against it for a moment, willing it to be a bad dream, a bad trip, anything but what he remembered, what his senses were corroborating. 

Everything still hurt. 

He opened his eyes. At least he could see now. Gritting his teeth against the whimper that wanted to slip out, Tony sat up and took in the small room he found himself in. It was wooden, the floor and walls alike were made of some sort of broad logs, all indeterminate grey in the early light. There was a counter running just beside where he was stretched out on the cot. He leaned over and squinted, and could just make out several posters on the wall behind it. Some sort of ranger station, maybe?

At least it didn’t take long to ascertain that he was alone in the small space.

Tony shuffled himself to the end of the cot and pushed up to his knees. He reached to the counter and pulled, bringing his feet underneath him. This time, he couldn’t stop a small moan of pain when his poor abused feet took his weight. 

He nearly cried when he realized that his shoes were at the other end of the cot.

The door opened behind him and the man from last night stepped into the small space. Tony felt himself straighten and turn towards him. The pain in his feet was forgotten, somehow, in the way that the man seemed to take up all the oxygen from the room.

He didn’t speak, just stared at Tony for a long time, like he could read every thought Tony had ever had if he just kept looking long enough. Tony pushed off the counter and took a step towards the man. He stumbled and found himself in the man’s arms before he could blink.

The staring continued. Tony huffed and pushed away from the man’s chest. Or tried to. Those mis-matched, muscular arms stayed locked around his back. Tony squirmed a little and pushed again, but the man didn’t budge. “Hey, Tall Dark and Broody, what gives?”

No answer.

Tony scowled and fisted his hands. “Let me go.”

_Wait. Stay._

The blood drained from Tony’s face. Stubbornly meeting the stare-down meant that Tony had been looking right at the man when he’d spoken. Except that his mouth hadn’t moved. Hadn’t opened. Tony had heard what were clearly his words, but - 

_Please._ The man’s eyes had in fact turned pleading, the only emotion he had shown thus far. 

\- he was hearing the man’s voice in his mind.

A swift denial rose up in him. Tony wasn’t sure what was happening, but while a tiny part of his mind started blaming Howard, most of his attention was focused on getting away. He shoved against the man a third time and managed to dislodge his hold. When the man reached for him again, Tony screamed at him. “No!”

The man grabbed at his ears and crumpled to the floor. Tony scrambled over to his shoes and jammed his feet into them. He edged carefully around where the man was moaning softly on the floor to reach the door.

_No. Don’t go._

Tony shuddered. The man started to push himself up on his arms. The fear surged again in Tony so strongly that he could almost feel it, a physical presence in his chest. He shot a hand out towards the man on the floor and _pushed_. The feeling ran down his arm, through his outstretched palm, and the man fell back to the floor again.

Tony cried out and curled his hand back to his chest. This had to be some kind of bad dream. None of this was possible. 

He had to get away.

Helpless against his own animal instincts, Tony ran. For the second time in less than a day, Tony pushed into the woods, with no plan, no help, no hope.

* * *

The morning air was bracingly cold, but it was more effective than a triple shot of espresso for clearing his head. He’d gotten away, but if he didn’t stop to think, he’d be just as dead as if he’d taken a bullet of his own last night. He shuddered at the memory of Howard’s last moments, then shook harder at the bite of the morning breeze.

Tony ducked behind a large tree and curled in on himself to try to keep warm. He was cold and exhausted, but when he let himself think it through, his situation really was much improved from last night. He could see, for one thing. Tony peeked around the tree, back the way he’d come. Wherever it was that he’d been brought, that building was civilization of a sort. That probably meant roads, or at the very least, a path.

Tony followed his own footprints back to the hut. He skirted the actual building, keeping a close watch through the trees. He didn’t see any sign of the man in black. Finally, he noticed a break in the trees that led away from the hut and made his way over to it. Fresh snow blanketed the asphalt, but it was clearly a single-lane service road. Relief washed through him.

He set as quick a pace as he could manage away from the building. He tried to keep his fingers tucked under his armpits and his mind away from the all too real possibility of frostbite. The sun rose fully and Tony had to squint against the reflected brightness all around him. He pushed onward, but found himself stopping more and more frequently to rest his legs or scoop snow into his parched mouth. 

When he stumbled onto the group of men coming the other direction, it was hard to say who was more shocked. The combination of sun, snow, and exhaustion had left Tony floating, nearly in a trance. One of them stepped forward, questioning Tony in rapid-fire Russian that he had no hope of translating in his current state. Tony shook his head.

The man pulled out a gun.

His father and Jarvis never seemed to agree on much, despite the butler’s many years with the Stark family. However, one thing that could absolutely unite them was the necessity of Tony’s self-defense training. Including the one that had taken his mother from them, Tony had been the victim of seven kidnapping attempts, and five of them involved men with guns. The most important figures in his life had spent hours ensuring that Tony would never freeze at the sight of one again.

Tony flung himself back into the forest. He shifted directions quickly, darting between the trees. He heard a shot go off and a shower of pine needles crashed around him when the tree was struck. The men shouted to each other and took off after him. 

He changed directions again, and had managed to put some distance between himself and his pursuers when his feet slid out from under him. He went down hard, sliding along a patch of ice as his momentum carried him into a clearing. He hissed at the sting in his scraped palms. His hip was throbbing where he’d fallen on it. 

The men surrounded him then, still on his knees with his breath panting out in wisps in the cold air. The same man stepped forward once again. He had his gun up over his shoulder, a swagger to his steps as he spoke more Russian. It must have been a joke; his cohort laughed.

Tony found himself looking down the gun’s barrel. The man laughed again, and said, in heavily accented English, “Last words?”

“Go to hell,” Tony spat. He swung the heavy tree branch clutched in his hand, smashing it into the man’s arm. The gun went off. The shot went wide, but the man brought his other hand around and struck Tony across the face. Tony swung again. His arm shook when the blow connected hard with the man’s knee.

He dropped the branch and tried to run, but one of the lackeys wrapped a hand in his shirt and pulled him back. Tony thrashed wildly and they both went tumbling into the snow. Another man came running towards them, brandishing a knife. Tony covered his face and curled up to protect his middle, but the man never made it to him.

Tony heard the heavy thump of bodies colliding and a new round of shouting. He thrust his elbow back into the stomach of the man on the ground beside him and pushed away when the grip on his shirt loosened. Tony rolled and came to his feet just as a body went flying past him. He turned and found himself face to face with _his_ black-clad mystery Russian. The man ducked around him and used his metal fist to punch another attacker hard enough to shatter the man’s nose with a sickening crunch.

“I have to figure out what to call you,” Tony mumbled. He backed away from the fighting, taking a moment to mark the location of the remaining attackers.

Tony flinched at the noise when the gun went off again, but the pained grunt from Metal Arm was somehow louder. Tony spun back to face him. Metal Arm punched the gunman in the throat, yanked the weapon away from him, and fired five times. The clearing seemed to ring in the sudden silence before five bodies hit the snow. Tony’s legs went loose and he laughed. “That was crazy.”

Metal Arm exhaled raggedly and went down to one knee. Tony jolted and ran to the man’s side just in time to get his arms around him and cushion the fall. Tony grunted at the unexpected weight. Right. Metal arm. Tony giggled semi-hysterically. He glanced down.

“Shit.” Metal Arm was bleeding. Tony watched the red seep into his shirt. He brushed frantic hands down the man’s torso, trying to find the wound. The man’s blood was nearly scalding on his frozen fingers when Tony pressed against the flow. He looked up to the man’s face.

He was staring again, almost dreamily tracking Tony’s eyes, the barest hint of a smile on his face. His human hand reached up and brushed through Tony’s hair. Tony sucked in a surprised breath at the light touch. “Why did you do that, huh?”

“Shining star,” the man whispered. His voice was low and deep, and Tony felt the words vibrate in his chest. It was the first time he’d heard that voice aloud. He opened his mouth, scrambling for a denial or a question or some response, when the man’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fainted dead away.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight warning for mentioned medical stuff, but nothing is described in detail.

“See, Rhodey? I could totally be a boy scout.” Tony cast a critical eye over his makeshift sled of pine branches held together with the dead mens’ belts and a bit of rope he’d found. “Probably more looting the bodies than most boy scouts have to contend with, but then there are troops in New Jersey, so.” He shrugged. “Maybe not.”

Talking to himself helped. Well, talking to Rhodey helped, even if his platypus wasn’t actually here. His recently acquired jacket, hat, gloves, knife, water, and protein bars were all very good things, things that would help him survive the next however many hours. That was probably worth the screaming nightmares he’s sure he’ll have when his mind tried to process the fact that he’d had to _undress a corpse_. He shuddered.

The gun he’d disassembled and buried.

He stared at the prone form of the man who had saved him. The water and food had helped immensely with clearing his head, and now he was having to think about things like responsibility and consequences and the structural integrity of makeshift sleds. The fact that he’d bothered to make a sled in the first place probably meant he knew what he was going to do, but he was so very tired that one more moment of hesitation was probably reasonable.

“I hope you know more about what’s going on than I do, buddy,” Tony muttered as he bent to maneuver the man onto the branches and secure the ties around his chest, high enough to keep him on, but not in the way of the makeshift bandage Tony had used to cover the man’s gun shot wound.

Tony set out, heading back to the ranger hut once again. Mystery dude brought him there first, hopefully it was for a reason. He’d just have to hope that the total fatalities of his attackers either represented the sum of whoever was after him or slowed down the party responsible enough that Tony could get away. He trudged through the snow, keeping the road in sight but not leaving the shelter of the trees again. The sled bumped along behind him; the unconscious man grunted when Tony hit a particularly large tree root and jostled him, but he hadn’t woken by the time they were back at the hut.

He bent down to check the man’s pulse and startled when those icy blue eyes shot open at his touch. Tony yanked his hand back. Metal Arm sat up with another grunt, and quickly looked around. When he’d swept his eyes over the entire area, he looked back at Tony. “Status?” His voice was croaky and Tony held out a water bottle. Metal Arm took it and pulled in several mouthfuls while his intent stare stayed locked on Tony. 

He wondered if it would always feel like the man was looking into his soul.

“Status?” he asked again.

“Uh.” Tony gestured weakly to the hut. “Home sweet home?”

The man’s expression didn’t change much, but Tony got the feeling his answer had definitely been lacking. He quickly added, “Those guys are all dead. I got out as quickly as I could. I don’t know if there is anyone else after us. I didn’t know what else to do! This place is really the only thing I’m familiar with in probably this entire forrest and I’m damned cold.” Tony was breathing heavily at this point, but the words kept spilling out of him. “I don’t know what’s going on. My father went and died before I could get any information out of him on what the hell he did to me.”

The man stared impassively.

“I’ve never even been hiking, but this sucks even more than I expected it to. I am exhausted. My head is throbbing. My teeth hurt. My fucking teeth! I want to start crying but I am worried that I won’t be able to stop and I cannot believe I just told you that.” Tony snapped his aching teeth together and tried to spontaneously combust on the spot.

The man slowly sat up beside Tony. “There are no human sounds within 11 km, where there is a small passenger car traveling at expected speeds. The Asset is not optimally functional. Orders?”

Tony blinked. “You’re not really helping with the whole needing to cry issue.”

The man stared at him.

Tony sighed and threw his arms up. “You know what? Why are we sitting in the snow? Let’s go inside.” Tony got back to his feet with less whining than he would normally have indulged in, considering his companion was sporting a bullet wound. He was proud of himself.

Until the man stood straight up and marched into the hut.

Tony scrambled after him and stood in the doorway. The man lowered himself onto a folding chair in the corner and sat there, looking straight at Tony. He wasn’t hunched over in pain, or breathing hard, or really giving any indication that he had anything more serious than a paper cut to contend with.

Tony stumbled over to him and knelt in front of him. Yep, the wound was still there. Still seeping blood a little bit. He looked up at Metal Arm. “The Asset is not functioning optimally?” he whispered.

Metal Arm nodded slightly, “The bullet is still within the wound.” He spoke matter-of-factly, but his eyes held a hint of apology.

“I think that’s bad.”

He nodded again and took a small blade out of his boot. “Maintenance is required.” He held the blade out, handle first, to Tony.

It took his exhausted brain a long moment to process the implications of that action, and when he understood that the man expected _him_ to remove the bullet, Tony flailed away from him so hard he landed right on his ass. He crabbed-walked away as quickly as he could, but quickly bumped against the opposite wall. “What the hell.”

“The Asset is not optimally functional. Removal of the bullet is required.” 

_I’m sorry._

“Oh, God, the voice again. No, I - I can’t.”

Metal Arm nodded and casually tossed the knife around to catch the handle. He brought it towards his stomach.

“NO!”

The man froze. Tony really was crying now. What had he done to deserve this? He crept back to Metal Arm’s side. He held up a hand for the blade and gripped it tight to try to stop the shaking of his hands. “Go, uh. Go lay on the cot.”

He wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, but just the thought of the man cutting into himself had been - well. He wasn’t going to sit by for that. Even if it meant he would be the one doing it. He sniffed and wiped his face with the hand not holding a knife.

The man stood slowly and stepped deliberately to the cot before lowering himself down onto it.

“Am I supposed to have boiled water and gathered towels? I feel like there should be towels.”

The man stared at the ceiling.

Tony took a slow breath in and had to sit on the chair himself for a minute. “Okay, Tony. You got this.” He looked at Metal Arm, perfectly still and ignoring Tony’s freaking out. “Right.” He looked around the hut. There was a distinct lack of towels, but there were a set of sheets on the cot. They were bunched down at one end of it; Tony hadn’t exactly made the bed before he fled earlier this morning.

God, was it really only this morning?

Tony reached over and pulled the top sheet off. He brought it up to his face and inhaled. It smelled okay, a little musty but not soiled. “Right,” he said again.

He crept the two steps to Metal Arm’s side and carefully knelt beside him. His hastily assembled bandage was starting to come undone anyway, so Tony reached over and pulled it off.

The man exhaled sharply, but his eyes remained fixed on the ceiling.

Tony held the knife up and looked at the man’s chest. His still clothed chest. He shook his head. “Uh, we’re gonna have to do something about your, uh, clothes.”

Metal fingers worked fastenings that Tony hadn’t even noticed, and in a blink, the man was bare from the waist up. He still hadn’t looked at Tony since Tony’s outburst. Tony stared at the well-formed chest in front of him, pale and starting to pebble with goosebumps in the Winter air, and covered with scars near the left shoulder, which was metal to match the rest of his arm.

The wound was bleeding. Tony didn’t think it was too much, but he wasn’t a damn doctor. Tony thought about the PhD he had in progress. “Doctor Stark,” he giggled. It was high pitched an unsettling, and he resolved not to do it again.

He picked up the knife. He set his left hand on Metal Arm’s chest. The man’s flesh hand snapped out. He grabbed Tony by the wrist. Tony startled, badly, and dropped the knife. It managed not to cut the man by pure chance. “Hey!” he cried out, glaring at the man on the cot.

It was almost like looking at a different person. The face was the same, but emotions were running riot over it. “I shot five people!”

Tony winced at the squeeze of his wrist. “I know. If it makes you feel better, they would have shot us first.”

Metal Arm was nearly hyperventilating. He curled up to get closer to Tony, and groaned at the wound in his side. 

“Hey hey hey hey, stop! Don’t do that!” Tony put his free hand on the man’s forehead. His eyes rolled back in his head and he fell back to the cot, completely knocked out again. 

“Shit!”

Tony waited several moments. The man’s eyes stayed closed. Tony gingerly shook the man’s shoulder, but he didn’t respond. 

Tony swallowed hard and picked up the knife.

* * *

The man still hadn’t woken, even a couple hours later, which was for the best for everyone involved. The bullet was out, and Tony had cut the sheets into strips to fashion new bandages. He had even managed to make it out the door before he vomited in the snow.

There was a large topographic map on the wall, and once he’d cleaned up from the impromptu field surgery, Tony had memorized it. The hut itself wasn’t marked on it, and Tony didn’t remember enough about his flight through the woods last night to guess their location with any confidence.

The hut also had a small generator and heater, which explained how he hadn’t frozen to death last night. He got it running again, noting the fuel level probably wouldn’t last much longer.

Tony curled into a small ball on the folding chair to watch the sleeping figure under the blanket. He rested his cheek against his knees and considered what he’d been through in the last 24 hours. His father had experimented on him - and there were probably effects beyond his nausea to contend with, but his father had gone and died without telling Tony anything of use. People were trying to kill him, too, but that probably didn’t include the man with the metal arm.

The man with the metal arm whose voice Tony had heard in his head. Who had moved faster in that fight than any person Tony had ever seen. Who had killed several people who were going to kill Tony. Who called Tony a star, but then acted like a robot. Tony frowned.

Until he didn’t. And Tony had almost stabbed him over it. What was this dude playing at? Tony sighed. Nothing, at the moment. He was lying on the cot, looking less like a cyborg Superman and more like a TA Tony could have run into down a hallway at school with his scruffy stubble and unkempt hair. He was sound asleep, and Tony had a growing suspicion that he himself had something to do with that. That was twice now that Tony had managed to make Superman _stop_ just by being freaked out enough to _think_ it at him.

He was starting to think Howard had done something very bad to him.

He watched his erstwhile patient and didn’t notice his blinks getting longer and longer. He slipped into sleep to the sound of the man’s steady breaths.


	4. Chapter 4

There were gentle hands on his shoulders and a horrible crick in his neck when Tony woke up. 

_Stark, we have to leave._

“You’re in my head, you can at least call me Tony.”

More staring. Big surprise. Tony sat up with a pathetic little whine. He was sore from his still-throbbing feet to his cricked neck. The sun was setting; most of the cabin was bathed in the deep purple-blue that came right before full dark. Superman was dressed again, and there was a packed bag sitting by the door that was new to Tony. “But why? Surely every good survivalist instinct says to shelter at night. Plus, I didn’t much care for my last outing.”

_They’re coming._

“Who’s coming?”

“Hydra.”

Tony started at Superman’s voice. He didn’t know what exactly Hydra was, presumably the men who were after him, but those two syllables seemed exceptionally ominous cutting through the half darkness. 

“And we don’t want to be found,” Tony agreed. He hauled himself back to his feet, and gathered the stolen warm weather gear around him once again. By the time he’d managed to cram the gloves back on his hands, the man was waiting by the door, wearing the pack. Tony looked over the little hut. The cot was missing, tucked back into whatever storage it had presumably come from. It was like they’d never been there, despite the fact that Tony vividly remembered the man bleeding on the floor several hours ago.

He eyed the man standing by the door. He looked back at Tony, standing straight and expectant. Tony took a deep breath. “How’s the - uh - ” he gestured to his companion’s torso and cringed at his awkwardness. How do you ask someone if their _bullet wound_ was still a problem?

“The Asset will function sufficiently.”

Tony sighed and decided not to argue. Either he would be okay or he wouldn’t. It was pretty clear that a longer recovery wasn’t an option at this point. He met the man’s gaze again. He didn’t seem quite as robotic as the last time he’d referred to himself as ‘The Asset’ - and whatever that meant it probably wasn’t good - but he still felt distant, as if more separated the two of them than just a handful of steps.

Tony took those steps and pushed open the door without letting himself hesitate. 

He went outside, followed by his companion, and Tony immediately regretted ever trusting Superman even the tiniest bit. It was so cold his lungs nearly stopped and every extremity tried to crawl back into his torso. His breath fogged in the dim light. The snow was crusted over and crunched beneath his feet. The sound seemed overly loud to Tony’s ears, so far removed from the normal noises of his everyday life.

Superman had no such difficulties. He appeared soundlessly at Tony’s side, making his poor exhausted muscles jerk. Tony glared at him. Superman cocked his head slightly and turned them off of the path with a light touch on Tony’s shoulder. They set off through the trees.

It didn’t take long for Tony to fall back into something of a trance. He had a passing thought about how much he must trust this man to lead him around when he didn’t even know the man’s name, but that truth made him uncomfortable - Rhodey would yell his ear off if they ever saw each other again, Tony was sure - so he pushed it aside. He tried to focus on putting one foot in front of the other, but his mind quickly went fuzzy. His heartbeat, his fogged breath, and the steady pace of the man in front of him only vaguely registered.

The darkness closed around them, until they were the only people left in the world. 

Tony didn’t even notice when his legs went out. One moment he was staring ahead at Superman’s back, and the next he was looking up into that pale face. He blinked and it swam in his vision before solidifying into the familiar scowl. Their gazes held for a few heartbeats before the man nodded and stood, Tony clutched in his arms.

Okay, this was taking things too far. Tony didn’t struggle or object to being carried, he knew he was slowing them down, and who knew how long they still had to go, but _he didn’t even know this man’s name_. “Nmgh.”

Superman didn’t even glance at him.

Tony swallowed, trying to work his dry mouth, and gave up. He managed to grab the water bottle still clipped to his belt and drank. His chariot took no notice of his flailing, and continued on his steady way. Tony huffed. 

“What’s your name?”

The man didn’t respond. 

“C’mon, I can’t keep calling you ‘Metal Arm’ or ‘Superman’ in my mind.”

Not so much as a twitch.

Tony groaned and flopped his head back dramatically, but that set it pounding again, so he quickly rolled it back up. He sighed and curled closer, resting his cheek against the man’s jacket-clad chest. It didn’t matter, suddenly, that he was being carried like a princess in a fairytale. It didn’t matter that he didn’t understand almost anything that had happened to him since his last dinner with his father. What he did know was that he’d be dead if it weren’t for this man, and it was suddenly unbearable that Tony didn’t even know his name.

His throat was tight, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the threat of tears.

The strong arms around him tightened and the man let out a barely-detectable noise. His steps slowed, then stopped altogether. Tony peeled his eyes open.

The man’s face was a study in anguish.

He looked achingly human. Suddenly, nothing really seemed important but soothing that hurt away. Heart squeezing in his chest, Tony reached up to turn the man’s face towards him. Those blue eyes radiated pain despite the near-total darkness. Tony wrapped his arms around his Superman and brought his face up to press their cheeks together.

The man went to his knees, but curled Tony up even closer in his arms. “I don’t know,” came the broken whisper in the darkness.

Tony, with the help of years of practice, pushed down his frustration and doubt. Superman unwound slightly. He didn’t relax, but Tony got the impression he was settling into a state of familiar readiness. Tony sighed and reminded himself that it wasn’t exactly the time or place for a heart-to-heart anyway. “It’s alright.” The arms twitched around him. “No, really, it’s alright. We’ll deal with it.” Tony paused before following a hunch and adding, “Together.”

The man’s breath hitched out and he pressed his face closer to Tony for a moment.

“What can you tell me? Where are we going?” Tony asked, low, into the quiet bubble between them. 

“We’ll find a safe house in the city. They won’t expect me to go there - I couldn’t, really, without you.”

Tony almost pulled away, because it was a little shocking to hear so many words from the man, but some instinct told him to stay close. He licked his lips. “Me?”

“I will keep you safe. Please trust that.”

The rest of the world seemed very distant. Even the events of a few hours before seemed so far removed from this moment, this man with gentle arms around Tony, but he had to ask, “And the Asset?”

Superman squeezed his eyes shut and took several deep breaths. “He’ll keep you safe.”

Tony shivered at the conviction in the man’s words. 

_You can’t stay out here._ Superman stood up, as easy and graceful as if Tony weighed nothing at all. 

He was right, they couldn’t stay like this, in the dark. Tony nodded. “Lead on, Macduff.”

* * *

It was getting to be a habit, now, collapsing or passing out in front of each other. Tony thought he should be more embarrassed about that, but considering that he had slept through much of their cold, dark trek through the forest, he was counting this one as a win.

As it was, he swam up to consciousness just as the sun was peeking over the horizon. Superman had brought them to a house. Well, Tony guessed the owners probably called it a cabin, but it wasn’t exactly the ranger hut they’d left behind. More like a fully functional home that happened to be in the snow-covered forest. The windows were dark and no cars were parked at the end of the long sloping driveway.

“Are you sure it’s empty?”

The man nodded and spoke into the quiet space between them, “The only heartbeats I can hear are mine, three squirrels in the back of the lot, and yours, Starshine.”

Tony shivered at the pet name, but decided not to comment on it. He swallowed roughly. “Three squirrels, huh? That’s very specific.”

Metal Arm grunted and hitched Tony higher in his arms. They went up the few steps to the front porch and Tony was set back on his feet. He tried not to look too suspicious as Metal Arm gripped the handle and snapped it with a quick jerk. The door swung open and they stepped through to a short hallway that ended in a large kitchen. 

Tony, suddenly aware of the fact that he could use an actual bathroom, took off down another hallway, finding his destination with ease. The weak morning sunlight reflected off the pale travertine tile as he relieved himself. Tony had stayed in the penthouse suites of several major hotel chains with his father but he had never known luxury like this: actual hand soap and towels! He splashed frigid water on his face and pressed it into the towel, reveling in the smell of fabric softener. He had the crazy urge to lie down on the bathroom floor and never move again, just exist in a little room where he didn’t have to confront reality and think about things that should have stayed safely in the realm of comic books, not come bursting into his life in a hail of bullets.

“Stark men are made of iron,” he told his reflection. He swallowed against a surge of bile.

He went back to the large main living area, where Superman was hovering awkwardly next to a plush blue couch. Tony paused in the doorway, but the man didn’t look up at him. Tony might have missed the staring. He sighed.

Tony went over and tugged the man down onto the couch. They might as well be comfortable. When the other man still wouldn’t meet his eyes, Tony sighed again. It looked like he needed to start the conversation himself. “So. Heartbeats, huh?”

The man flinched a little and Tony wanted to kick himself. He dropped his voice, trying to be gentle. “You know most people aren’t able to hear that kind of thing, right?”

_I know._ “The Asset is enhanced.” It was Tony’s turn to flinch a little. He wasn’t sure why, but he really didn’t like when the man used that designation. At least the monotone was gone. The man finally met his eyes with an almost rueful smile.

“Okay,” Tony whispered. He slapped his hands down on his knees and stood up, suddenly restless. He spotted a wood stove in the corner of the room. “Well, how about we warm up a bit, yeah?”

The man shook his head. “It isn’t safe.”

“You think the owners will show up?”

He shook his head again. “We are still within the reach of Hydra.”

Tony swallowed. “How far away do we have to get?”

“The city.”

“New York?” Tony asked. “Might be a good plan, at that. Lay low on the home turf. Okay, sure.”

Superman looked slightly confused, but he nodded slowly. “Hydra won’t expect the Asset to function adequately in that environment.”

“Why not?”

“The As - we - _I_ may get lost.” The man wrung his hands, the metal glinting between human fingers. “But I think I can find you, Tony, if that happens.”

“You need a guide.” The words jumped out of his mouth, but he could feel the truth of them, even as he said it. So much of the past few days was a blur, but Tony did remember his last, disturbing, conversation with his father. He squinted at the man slumped on the couch, trying to imagine him in red, white and blue. “You’re not Captain America, are you?”

“Who the hell is that?”

Tony shrugged. “Someone made up. Just a comic book character.” He crossed back to the couch and sank down again with another sigh. “Do we really have to go back out there?”

The man smirked a little. “Well, I figured we’d take the car.”

“You saw a car?”

He shook his head. “Can smell it.”

“Of course you can. We can have some breakfast first, right?”

They raided the pantry. It was pretty sparse, mostly granola bars and baking staples, but Tony was pretty thrilled when he found the dried apricots. The chewy sweetness was extremely welcome after living off the rations he’d gotten yesterday. He filled up his water bottle and grabbed a bag of chocolate chips for the road.

“Okay, let’s see this car.”

The car in question turned out to be a Mercedes 350SL convertible and Tony felt himself drool a little when Superman pulled the drop cloth off her. This was going to be fun. He reached out a hand to stroke the hood, but abruptly pulled it back. “Wait. We can’t steal someone’s car.”

Superman frowned at him from where he was kneeling down to check the tires. “Our survival depends on leaving quickly.”

“But - ” Tony scrubbed his hands over his face. “This is someone’s baby.”

“There are no other vehicles here.” The man stood up and stepped towards him. “Your life is worth more than this car, Tony.”

Tony sniffed. He’d just have to make sure that it made its way back somehow. Superman was right, he wasn’t ready to find out what would happen if Hydra caught up to them again. He nodded. “Do you know anything about cars?”

Superman shook his head. “It was not mission relevant.” _Sorry_.

Tony waved away the statement and the apology. He pointed to the snow shovel in the corner. “Well, the roads are mostly plowed here, it looked like, but the driveway will need to be cleared. This isn’t exactly an all-terrain sort of vehicle.” He was more than a little disappointed that they wouldn’t be able to take the top down when they took her out. “I’ll finish looking her over if you can shovel?” Tony offered.

He found keys back in the house in a small dish and went to spend some time with the car. She was in good condition, obviously cared for and driven not too long ago. By the time they had finished their respective tasks, the Mercedes was humming in the garage, warming up, and his Superman was also looking a little warm. A bright pink flush had spread over his cheeks and Tony had to bite his lip not to say something suggestive about working up a sweat.

There was an awkward moment where the man hovered near the car before Tony rolled his eyes and said, “I’m driving.” Superman’s shoulders slumped and his face relaxed. He nodded and slid into the passenger seat.

Tony sat down in his own seat and clicked the seat belt. When he reached up to adjust the rear-view mirror, Superman caught his hand. “You will bring me back? If I get lost?”

“I will.” Tony kept his eyes on the other man’s face. “You know, you seem like a completely different person from the man who terrified the hell out of me in the woods two days ago.”

Superman kissed the back of Tony’s hand and clutched it to his chest. “I am.”

Tony didn’t have anything to say to that, so after a few moments, he gently took his hand back, shifted the car into reverse, and headed out into the mid-morning sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! [Have a picture of the car in question, because it is a pretty thing.](https://sierranovembr.tumblr.com/post/190710162290/mercedes-350sl)


	5. Project Lodestone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Selected excerpts from the laboratory notebook of Howard Stark  
Project Lodestone, 1968-1991
> 
> [Chapter tags: Brief mentions of miscarriage, Howard Stark's A+ husbanding, brief Peggy Carter]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For copy/pasting ease of the Bingo Mods:
> 
> Title: Project Lodestone  
Collaborator Name: SierraNovembr  
TSB Card Number: 3065  
TSB Square Filled: S2: Writing Format: Diaries and Journals  
Ship/Main Pairing: Howard Stark/Maria Stark  
Rating: Gen  
Major Tags: Human experimentation, brief mentions of miscarriage, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Howard Stark's A+ husbanding, Sentinel/Guide AU, Guide Tony Stark  
Word Count: 2291

_inside cover_

Howard Stark  
890 Fifth Avenue  
New York, NY 10003

_page 1_

Project Lodestone: Official launch  
2 September 1968

With the healthy birth of specimens from generations Romeo, Sierra, and Tango, Project Windfall has successfully demonstrated the viability of artificially inseminated embryonic mice implanted into the uterus after exposure to modified vita rays (see H Stark personal notes 1946, 1961, 1968).

Project Lodestone expands the research to human subjects with the eventual goal of creating a compatible, enhanced individual to compensate for anomalies in the Project Rebirth results. (see A Erskine and H Stark, Strategic Scientific Reserve Report SSR-7419-1943 (Classified))

Cambridge phone call scheduled Tuesday 0730 to set up block grant.

_page 3_

Due to the distressing hesitance of supposed leaders in their field, Project Lodestone will continue under my sole effort and with my full discretion.

The prerequisite paperwork (NDA and a special non-compete) mean that the poor fools will certainly not lead the field from this point forward.

_page 4_

Carrier Selection Criteria:

Age: 22 - 29 years  
A healthy height and weight ratio  
Unmarried  
No prior history of pregnancy  
Not be receiving state or federal financial aid  
Be willing to undergo subcutaneous and intramuscular injections  
Be willing to undergo a psychological evaluation and polygraph test

Compensation: For the duration of gestation, $15,000.00 payable in thirds at the beginning of each trimester. Medication and doctor visits will be covered, and an additional $2200.00 for recovery after delivery.

Both standard and project-specific non-disclosures shall be signed.

U.S. Citizenship is required. Pending project progression, the ability to hold a security clearance may become necessary for continued participation.

_page 22_

16 April 1969  
First implantation successful. CS5940 tested positive for pregnancy.

_page 30_

2 June 1969  
CS5940 pregnancy miscarried. Surrogate dismissal effective today’s date. 

_page 33_

8 June 1969  
Second implantation successful. MC3188 tested positive for pregnancy.

13 June 1969  
I will admit some frustration with the long wait time associated with the organic limitations of this project. I am not yet willing to risk multiple implantations, given the time-intensive nature of the project in the later phases. While multiple children would have some advantages, one subject will be sufficient, without posing too many limitations on my other endeavors. 

_page 38_

22 July 1969  
MC3188 pregnancy miscarried. Surrogate dismissal effective today’s date.

31 July 1969  
Meeting with MC3188. Perhaps my reliance on Jarvis’s discretion should be a concern. Though he has ever been a valued companion, his heart is too soft, especially for a woman with something to prove. In any case, she was readmitted to the study, and managed to convince the both of us to wait for her to be able to accept another transfer.

I am not often given to doubting my initial judgement nor changing a course of action once decided upon. Have judged her to be worth the risk. Her background investigation indicated she was a medical student, though it seems her interest lies more in research than family practice. She stood right in front of me and declared herself convinced that the level of data collection pointed to this being more than the eccentricities of a millionaire suddenly interested in an heir. 

I told her she couldn’t know the extent of my eccentricities.

She proceeded to describe most of my own research methodologies to me and told me she wasn’t stupid. I’ll grant her that much. She said she could help, and she had the references to back her up.

And I found myself convinced that she could indeed. See pg 39 for the edited procedure we devised to be implemented during the first trimester.

<s>Remarkable woman, it will be interesting to see what our child will be capable of.</s>

_page 45_

12 September 1969  
Third implantation successful. MC3188 tested positive for pregnancy.

[Follows several pages of columnated data headed with the code MC3188, upon inspection, they are dated standard patient vital signs as well as weight and waist circumference.]

_page 54_

8 January 1970

_Dear Howard, I had refrained from telling you this at the start of my involvement with the project, but please allow me now to say that you are a complete fool. What possessed you to require your partner to be without vital experience in the growing of an **entire human person within their body**. You, dearest, are insane! I don’t know what is normal and what is a result of your madness and meddling. My organs are no longer my own. I can feel them, moving around, shifting with every move I make. I cannot seem to think past the fatigue, the hunger. This was supposed to be a pinnacle in my research career and I feel like the only heights I may obtain are a result of my having turned into a damned blimp! In conclusion, everything is your fault and you owe me a cheeseburger. Your partner, Maria_

_page 59_

Having loud conversations with three irate, vocal women about the methodologies of Project Lodestone was not what I had anticipated for this phase of the project. It was supposed to be a relatively sedate time, as we wait for the gestation to proceed. I was determined to allow the process to go on with limited intervention on my part, despite the enticing prospect of taking advantage of the current rapid rate of cellular generation. Apparently, this was not a sufficient level of consideration in Peggy’s eyes.

Pegs came to visit, unannounced as per her usual, while Maria and I were conducting her current measurements.

She demanded an explanation, and refused to be put off, also as per her usual. Once the project (and the delicate nature of Maria’s condition) were explained, instead of showing any of her famous decorum, she chose to berate me, loudly, on the state of my humanity as well as my scientific methodologies.

Having only recently discussed that matter with Maria herself, I was not in the mood to discuss it further, and our ensuing argument even drew Ana from the kitchen to opportunistically berate me herself.

<s>As I cannot, at this point, fire any of these women, I am at a loss for</s>

_page 60_

Peggy’s concerns have been noted, and our compromise is as follows:  
Maria will be announced as my wife. Peggy will create the documentation to indicate that the event took place before her pregnancy started, to preserve her reputation and give cover for our continued collaboration.  
Maria will move into the mansion, and the salary promised will be deposited into a trust. This salary will continue through the course of our association, rather than terminating at the end of the pregnancy.  
Peggy will not stab me with any implement, dull or otherwise, and will visit frequently in the months to come to ensure the smoothness of the operation.

_page 88_

May 29, 1970

5:03am: Maria is awake with contractions. They are sufficiently regular to assume that the culmination of this phase of the project is imminent. Her record of the contraction timing and duration is attached.

_page 90_

May 29, 1970 (cont.)

12:12pm: We are en route to the hospital. Maria complains about the bumps in the road, but I have not noticed a particular change in Jarvis’ skill at avoiding the worst of them.

4:17pm: Contractions continue, 3 min separation. The doctor reports Maria has several hours to go.

6:45pm: The contractions appear much increased in intensity. 

7:20pm: I find myself quite impatient with the duration of the process. We agreed months ago not to contaminate the project results with interventions to increase the speed of delivery or decrease Maria’s discomfort. Although she has been in significant discomfort, she has not wavered from this decision. I suppose it would be in bad form for me to request that something be done, but as this day drags on, I am tempted.

7:58pm: Maria is visibly fatigued.

9:25pm: Contraction frequency and intensity both continue to slowly increase.

11:03pm: Doctor finally reports that Maria is sufficiently dilated.

11:18pm: Maria has been given leave to begin pushing. Given the nurses’ glares, it may be prudent to delay further log entries until after the event has culminated.

_page 91_

May 30, 1970

Anthony Edward Stark was born May 29, 1970 11:45pm. His vital signs are good. Weight 7.9lb, length 20in.

_page 119_

13 July 1970

I find it easier than I anticipated to show the proper enthusiasm for the child, though at times I worry about losing sight of the ultimate purpose of the project. Maria speaks less often about the interesting facets of the experiment, though this may be a temporary concern as her sleep is constantly interrupted.

The child is undeniably lively, mostly in the form of screaming for milk at all hours, but occasionally, I can glimpse the kind of curiosity that will mark him out as Stark.

I admit that the doubts planted by Peggy and Maria herself during the gestation still linger. From time to time, I wonder if it would have been wise to have a control child first, to understand the emotional effects of this specimen versus a baseline. However, I think of poor Rogers in his icy prison, and I must reassert my confidence that the pull we all feel towards Anthony must be the result of our efforts.

_page 188_

29 December 1970

Anthony is now eight months old, has four teeth, and weighs 18.4 lb. He has mastered crawling, pulling himself to standing, standing independently for a significant time, and controlled return to sitting from standing. He has taken a few unstable upright steps with a single hand for assistance from Maria. My research indicates that this is slightly advanced for his current age, however, I do not estimate it to be outside of possible norms.

His mental development also continues, and his current interest lies in turning the pages of books and notebooks as well as vocalizing. He can summon Maria with a “Mama,” and I have even witnessed his attempts at “Dada.” Unfortunately, his current favored entertainment consists of removing items from any shelf within his reach and throwing them across the room.

_Tony has five teeth, Howard._

The boy’s teeth have been independently verified to currently number five.

_page 264_

March 27, 1975 

The remaining Project Lodestone embryonic samples have been lost. My facility suffered a break-in, and the built-in failsafes managed to destroy the samples once their containment seal was breached. Though no longer viable, all samples are accounted for.

No evidence remains of the perpetrator. No lights were activated and the security cameras were all disabled before the recorded time of containment failure.

Clearly, effort will need to be put forth to determine the source of the information leak that led to such an unfortunate event. The threat to this project will be eliminated.

_page 266_

31 March 1975

It is with deepest sorrow that I record here the passing of Maria Collins Carbonell Stark, killed 30 March 1975 by a single gunshot wound to her chest. She was shot during what the police believe to be a robbery gone wrong while taking Anthony shopping. Given the recent break-in to my upstate facility and the destruction of the Project Lodestone specimens, I suspect there may have been an attempt to kidnap Anthony as well. Fortunately, Jarvis was able to disarm the perpetrator. That the man is frequently underestimated is one of his best assets.

I am deeply saddened by Maria’s passing. She was a stalwart companion, and a quick and engaging partner in our endeavor and in my life.

Anthony is inconsolable, and while a feeling of grief has permeated every space in this house, the choking, overwhelming hopelessness that surrounds the boy, and anyone who attempts to comfort him, is intense. Although I would have preferred to receive it in almost any other way, the emotional storm of last day does provide evidence to support the success of the endeavor which defined Maria’s life. Surely this level of shared grieving is a result of Anthony’s projecting his emotions onto the other members of the household.

When a respectable period of mourning has passed, I have resolved to make sure that the boy learns to control his emotions. There is still some time before the next phase of the procedure can commence. It will be prudent to help him master what he can of his abilities.

_page 303_

1 July 1984

Having observed the onset of puberty in Anthony’s behavior and growth rate over the last four months, I have deemed it time to proceed to the next and final phase of Project Lodestone. The rapid changes to his hormonal balance will facilitate his body’s absorption of the complementary serum and encourage the production of the guiding pheromones. Accounting for his unique blood chemistry is a challenge (see pg 214), but one that will be overcome with some adjustments (see pg 218-247).

_page 408_

9 April 1986

His experience is much more uncomfortable than I remember my own being, and I do occasionally pity him for this. However, it is his purpose, and we are closer than ever to achieving my goal. Anthony <s>will be</s> is my greatest creation.

[The final pages consist of columnated data: dates, volume measurements, and a list of side-effects, the most common of which are listed as “nausea” and “obstinance”]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, hey.
> 
> I'm sorry this isn't the next chapter of the main story line. I have been having a very hard time with it. Bucky and Tony are holed up in a safe house and with the sheltering-in-place it is hitting close to home. But I haven't given up on it. To those who are reading this along with me, thanks for sticking with this WIP!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Asset procures a hideout.

The Asset directed Tony to pull the vehicle into a corner parking spot on the third and lowest level of the parking garage. He pulled the hand brake and cut the engine when the Asset indicated.

The Asset nearly lurched at the sudden absence of noise and he reeled for a brief moment before his senses recalibrated. He focused on the sound of Tony’s breathing. Tony drew in a deeper breath in preparation to speak.

_Wait_.

Tony huffed, irritated, but he didn’t speak. The Asset closed his eyes and reached out his hearing. Tony’s heartbeat sounded a steady drum, and between each beat, the Asset **listened**. The garage was quiet, the hour too early for the evening rush of workers returning home. A scrabbling in the stairwell - he paused, but quickly identified the heartbeat of a small rodent - he listened higher. The gate attendant was listening to a baseball game on the radio and occasionally crinkling - a bag of chips.

Several vehicles drove by the entrance. A woman with a baby stroller - the baby fussing quietly - walked past.

No one pulled into the garage after them, no heavy-booted feet, no slight clicks of weapons being unholstered.

The Asset stopped his breathing, shutting off a third sense to push his hearing out further. A horn honked several streets over. He became aware of a deeper thrum, to the North, an amalgam of noises blending, calling - 

He listened harder, pushing out - 

The city honked, barked, hummed, shouted, sounds bouncing between buildings, funneling towards him - a rushing noise - 

“Hey.”

The Asset snapped back into the car. His body jerked, and he nearly shouted when he realized he couldn’t **see**.

“Superman?” 

The Asset **felt** a touch to his shoulder, three individual pressure points.

He waited for the pain. He had nearly gotten lost, and that meant punishment, meant the injection. 

He waited, forcing himself still. Perceived resistance also meant punishment - but even he had to breathe eventually. He exhaled, defeated, and the next breath smelled like _Tony_.

He looked across the car and he could **see** him, feel the faint glow that was Tony, his guiding starlight. Tony was there, and Bucky felt the pull of **hearing** snap like a brittle twig. He nearly collapsed in relief.

“The coast is clear,” the Asset reported.

Tony frowned. _What happened just now? What was that?_

The Asset shook his head. “We need to seek shelter.”

They made their way up the stairs; the rodent scurried deeper into the darkness. Tony kept glancing at the Asset, but kept his silence. 

The Asset **listened** at the door before pushing out into the street. They were on the outskirts of the city on the wrong side of town, a place where cheap accommodations and few questions would be the norm. He nodded in satisfaction and set off down the street which took them parallel to the distant, beguiling cacophony of the city. He swept his eyes over each building, looking for a motel. There was cash in his backpack, but the further he can stretch it, the better their chances.

“We need a place to hide, right?” Tony asked. He pointed at a doorway. The Asset looked over to see the bright flier advertising rooms in the condo several floors above them. He tipped his head back and found the correct floor. It had huge windows.

He turned, counted. At least four vantages with a clear shot, six more which would require more skill but would in turn offer more cover for a shooter. 

“Well?” Tony looked hopeful.

The Asset shook his head and started walking once more.

“Hey!”

“It’s too dangerous.”

Tony ran after him and grabbed on to his arm. “Dude!”

The Asset looked down into Tony’s face, irritated and flushed. He imagined that face slack, bloodied. Those bright eyes dulled.

His stomach lurched and the Asset tried to move away, as if he could banish the image with distance from the subject.

The world spun around him and his steps faltered. His equilibrium was compromised. The Asset detoured to an alleyway, seeking some manner of shelter between the closely spaced buildings. He felt his back hit the wall, hard, and his lungs protested the lack of oxygen. Breathing was worse, the smells of the trash in the dumpster behind the next building, a woman’s perfume, car exhaust, crashed into him, a physical force he could feel on his face. He sucked a tiny breath through his teeth and clamped his mouth closed against the assault.

Sounds were gone. He couldn’t **hear**.

He could **see**. There was a coin on the ground, just in front of him, reflecting a sunbeam - 

The bright glint - 

White light bled over him, and he fell, surrounded by the rushing, ringing sound of nothing. An avalanche - 

Cold.

The Asset was unaware of time passing, but the next breath he was forced to take brought a new scent. Fear sweat and vestiges of expensive cologne and - 

The Asset gasped, filling his lungs with the **smell** of Tony.

Sound. Tony was speaking. His voice reached down through the white and snow and cold - 

“ - but Rhodey says I hadn’t slept for three days straight, which has to be an exaggeration. I’m sure I napped during Professor Linden’s Dynamics class.”

“Tony,” he gasped. He could **smell** him, could **hear** his voice.

“Oh thank god,” Tony sighed. “We need to get off the ground, Superman. I don’t think we should stay out here.”

Slowly, _finally_, the white bled away and he could **see** Tony again. His face was creased with worry, but he was here, close enough that the Asset could **feel** each soft exhalation, the small air currents brushing along his cheeks.

He breathed as well.

* * *

It was a matter of hours before they found adequate shelter. When they spoke with him, the landlord was shifty in the way that the Asset identified as slightly desperate, just enough to take cash and be intimidated out of looking into them further. The Asset had both cash and intimidation at his disposal, courtesy of the handlers.

Rations and other supplies were procured as quickly as he could manage. The itchy, tight feeling of leaving Tony alone in the apartment built and twisted under his skin with every minute he was away. He refused to dwell on the thoughts that whispered through his mind - _return_ \- Hydra would mean pain - _peace_ \- would mean Tony's death. _Mission objective._

He sprinted the last few blocks, returning to find Tony sleeping fitfully on the bare mattress, curled under his borrowed coat. The Asset breathed deep lungfuls of air, willing his heartrate to steady as the scent of Tony mingled with the musty smell of an unused space and sank into him. Tony shifted on the bed and the Asset reached a hand out towards him. 

He stopped, curling his fingers back before he could touch. In the darkness, Tony shone softly. 

Like starlight.

The Asset moved away, silently shifted back until he settled against the locked door. He closed his eyes to extend his hearing into the rest of the building. The night was quiet. The neighbor two floors away snored impressively. Three televisions droned three different channels. Behind his eyelids, pain began to throb. All the evidence of his senses indicated they were safe, but the itching, crawling sense of danger persisted.

By morning, the itching had become an inferno.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the short and very delayed update. Pandemic parenting while pursuing a PhD is pretty personally precarious.


End file.
